I'm An Awesome Stalker
by oozorawesomeREIJI
Summary: Clyde gets a girlfriend! Fortunately, Craig WILL fix that problem. Featuring Craig and Tweek going undercover, just because they can. Twoshot, Cryde.
1. Log 1

Haha, I'm so horrible. And man, I have to find a new OTP, fast. But hey, when it's not Creek, I can get away with writing Tweek as an incompetent spy. (Y) I made a prompt called "Craig is a Stalker." This be crack. XD

* * *

**I'm An Awesome Stalker**

No, really.

* * *

_**Log 1**_

_**

* * *

**_Craig Tucker was waiting patiently for his lunch. What a boring kid, amirite. He slid his tray along the line, placing an innocent looking burger onto the scratched up plastic. Craig never bought lunch, except for when he wanted to scrutinize Clyde from across the cafeteria. Not like he didn't stare at Clyde on a daily basis anyway, but that wasn't the point.

He ran his tongue over chapped lips and took a moment to point his gaze in the direction of his best friend. Craig thought he had every right to feel suspicious. The "oh shit, he's got a girlfriend again" kind of suspicious. He didn't have any solid evidence, but he'd definitely heard the rumours. They had plagued him during his first two periods, and all the way through to silent reading (what the hell was up with Park County schools and silent reading?). Thanks to all the gossip in English period, his mind had been wracked with paranoia all morning.

Just who the fuck was Clyde hooking up with?

Last time, it had been Sally "Powder" Turner, and Craig had taken care of her quite efficiently. Methodically flipped her off, ruined her grade point average, and destroyed her entire reputation in one coldly calculated week's worth of work. It had been a very neat job, much subtler than any Cartman operation. When Craig got pissed, he was like the male version of Wendy Testaburger. Bitchy, PMSical, and so very, incredibly _scary_.

He smirked in recollection. Oh, the things he did for unrequited love.

* * *

Phase One: From Across the Cafe

Brown-haired, single-testicled Clyde Donovan sat alone in the middle of Park County High's incredibly crappy cafeteria. The seventeen year old was casually poking around in his backpack in search of food when, all of a sudden, Bebe Stevens slid into the seat across from him.

This was a highly unusual occurrence. Craig quickly gave himself a rundown of the situation, just to make sure the rumours were right. For one, Clyde was more spaced out than usual today. Which alone wouldn't be particularly distressing except...Bebe always sat with Wendy at lunch, unless – aw_, ____God – unless she was trying to sleaze her way _into someone's heart.

Craig watched the whole devastating scene unfold, from the relative safety of the lunch line.

"Hey Clyde, can I sit here?" gushed the blonde, setting a tray down on the table. Craig waited for Clyde to say 'No, you stupid bitch, that's Craig's seat.' ...To no avail.

What really happened was perhaps something straight from a really awful, thinly plotted movie. First, Clyde _betrayed _him. The brunet blushed like a fucking dumbass (Craig inferred this with a totally unbiased analysis), and started stammering.

"Uh – Uh, sure, Bebe," Clyde stuttered, suddenly appearing self-conscious of the bleach stain on his red coat. Craig rolled his eyes and poked at his chicken burger mercilessly. It oozed nicely all over his tray, he noted with petty satisfaction.

Bebe smiled winningly and pushed her hair behind her ears. The round-eyed Clyde sitting across from her stared, transfixed. _Clyde, the fuck, _thought Craig, grinding his teeth together in epic slow motion.

Christ, this was going to suck. Why did Bebe have to try to seduce Clyde, of all people?

"_Ey_, Craig! Stop being such a Jew and move, goddamnit!"

Without skipping a beat, Craig flipped an indignant Eric Cartman off and stalked over, with practiced haughtiness, to pay for his lunch. "Asshole," he muttered under his breath. Craig handed the cashier his money and decided it was time to take action. Oh, it was fucking war_._

He slid his cellphone open and put his number 2 speed-dial on the line. "Tweek," he said lowly, when the familiar greeting shriek met him, "meet me in the... uh, library after school. I have something really important to tell you." He sighed mournfully.

"Are you in love with me?!" Tweek screeched from the other end. "Th-That's too much pressure! What, do you want me to – AGH! – commit? Oh Jesus_,_ I'm not ready for thi – "

Calmly, Craig held the phone at arms' length and waited for the screaming to stop. When his phone stopped blaring incessantly, he put it back to his ear. "I'm not in love with you, Tweeker."

There was a relieved exhale at the other end. Craig frowned for a moment. Was he seriously not that appealing? Come on, he didn't look that bad – oh shit, it was his teeth, wasn't it?

Whatever. He flipped Tweek off, momentarily forgetting that the blond wasn't actually there to witness it. "So," he continued, trying to clear his head of Tweek's stupidity, "after school. Library. I'm-not-in-love-with-you." Craig hung up, trying his damnedest not to roll his eyes out of their sockets. Seriously, _Tweek_.

* * *

Phase Two: Suave Interception

Before he put his faith in Tweek Tweak, Craig knew he should try to stop the awfulness before it actually had time to grow. He picked his lunch tray up and tried to adopt a casual (but awesome) walk as he made his way over to his usual seat. Right foot, left foot. Right, left, right, left. Craig tried to relax his shoulders and stand up straight, an alien contrast to his usual slouch.

He swallowed and attempted to force his voice to sound _extremely attractive_. This was extraordinarily difficult, and he was almost a hundred percent sure that his brain would just process this request as 'even more monotone.'

"Hey, _Clyde_ – " he began, as he neared the table. And his eyes almost popped out when he saw the sight that beheld him. A quick glance around the cafeteria showed him that Wendy Testaburger also appeared to be trying her hardest not to throw up. On the other side of the room was Kenny McCormick, who looked both incredibly jealous and immensely turned on. Craig kind of wanted to stab him, but he didn't really want to get bloodstains on his new hoodie. No, not even for Clyde.

Craig had never been surprised by anything in life. He always reacted to things in the same bored, uninterested tone. A volcano was erupting? "I don't care." Giant guinea pigs were going to destroy the earth? "Whatever, just let me finish this episode of Red Racer first." He was the Underpants Gnomes' new victim? "Fuck off, Tweek." Craig was constantly indifferent and tuned out to the world, and almost nothing besides Red Racer could capture his attention for more than five minutes.

But when he saw Clyde making out with Bebe Stevens across the table – _his_ table – he felt... _something_ in his stomach twitch. His tray fell to the floor with a clatter, contents forgotten in the face of such horror. Because, according to Craig, who was **Always Right** (TM), Clyde Donovan was not allowed to be straight, damn it. Bile burned at the back of his throat and his left eye started twitching as spasmodically as if he had suddenly turned into Tweek.

"You know," Bebe was saying between sloppy kisses (despite his revulsion, Craig couldn't decide if it was Clyde or Bebe who sucked more at kissing), "I really like you." Her shirt slipped a few inches, and Clyde's flush increased perceptibly.

"Well," Craig muttered caustically to himself, surveying the sad little burger on the floor, "this is shit." He didn't stick around to watch Clyde's fumbling declaration of love for Bebe.

He knew it was something he should've been expecting, something he'd been anticipating all day, but... dude. Craig flipped himself off.

It was time to get serious.

* * *

Phase Three: Gather Intel

The last period of the day was chemistry. In chemistry, Craig had to sit next to Clyde. He took this as an opportunity to shoot menacing glares toward the disgustingly love-struck brunet. Craig wouldn't admit it, but he was sort-of-totally possessive. And the fact that Bebe had gotten to Clyde first really irked him.

"Dude, why are you so pissed off?"

Craig sucked in a breath through his teeth. He had to admit that it was a fair question. The day that Craig Tucker showed any kind of emotion was a terrifying day. But he didn't want to bother with an elaborate explanation.

So he opted for something straight to the point. "You have shitty taste, that's all."

"What?" Clyde sounded confused.

Craig ignored him for the rest of the period. Especially when the brunet started talking about Bebe's boobs and her awesomeness and her hair and oh man her boobs were amazing and yeah maybe her kissing was kind of messy but – "Damnit, Clyde, shut _up_."

When the bell rang, Craig gathered his things and watched out of the corner of his eye as Clyde literally bounded out the classroom. Usually they'd walk home together – but, he reflected spitefully, it seemed like Clyde had other plans.

"Hey Bebe, what's _goin' on_?"

Craig grimaced. Worst. Pickup line. Ever.

"Clyde!" The bubbly blonde flung her arms around her newly acquired boy toy. "Hmm..." her eyes narrowed for the fraction of a moment. "Can we go shoe-shopping?"

The brunet smiled cheesily. "Sure, I'll get you some shoes." Clyde sent Craig a backward glance, as if to say, 'Am I doing it right?'

Craig shook his head vehemently and turned away. His face was an unreadable mask, but underneath that layer, the cogs were set into motion. Or, to be slightly less cliché, Craig was going to be a super stalker.

Park County Mall. 4:45. The Donovans' shoe store. _Got it_, he thought, in a tone that was a definite nod to episode 192, when Red Racer had to go undercover to find out who was tampering with his brakes. Craig made a mental note of Clyde's plans and all but ran for the library. Knowing Tweek, the blond would either be really early or really late.

Craig was a fairly decent runner, even with his spindly legs squeezed into tight jeans. He sped down the hall, messenger bag trailing from out behind him in a lovely dramatic fashion.

The theme song for Red Racer snapped him out of his concentration. Craig fought with himself to stop _freaking mouthing the words to the song_, and he fumbled in his skintight pockets (why had his grandmother bought him skinny jeans, anyway?) to open his phone.

"Oh my God, Craig!" came the ear-splitting screech, and Craig found himself running straight into a wall, left ear ringing in pain. He slammed his eyes shut when the impact crashed through his skull. _I guess I should have expected that_, he thought drily.

"Fuck," Craig said conversationally, wishing he'd invested in a more shock-absorbent hat. He put the phone back to his still-buzzing ear. "What's up, Tweek? Are you at the library?"

"Yeah I had a – gah! – free period, so I've been waiting here for two hours! Why aren't you here yet? Did you get captured by the underpants gnomes?! I told you they didn't like plaid boxers! They have to be _briefs_, Craig! White with blue trim! Oh Jesus, are you okay??"

Craig blinked, and pressed his free hand onto the wall for support. "When were you going through my underpants drawer – never mind. I'll be there in two minutes."

The dark haired boy snapped his phone shut and resigned himself to undergoing the difficult task of shoving the device back into his pants pocket. _I hate these jeans._ He rubbed his throbbing forehead, readjusted the strap on his bag, and began the epic descent downstairs.

So what was wrong with plaid boxers? And where the hell had his Red Racer pair gone?

* * *

Phase Four: Sunglasses and Walkie-Talkies

He found Tweek shaking convulsively by the Classics section of the library, a large mug of coffee clutched in his twitching fingertips. The blond was sitting at one of the rickety wooden tables, and he seemed about ready to faint.

Craig tossed his bag onto Tweek's desk and walked past a shelf full of Dickens novels (that no one but that stupid French fairy read) to greet his friend.

Tweek's bloodshot eyes stared into his own icy ones. "Wh-What's the really important thing?"

"Clyde has a girlfriend," was the flat reply. "Bebe_ Stevens._"

"O-Oh." From Tweek's subdued tone, Craig noticed with grim satisfaction that the blond was taking the situation seriously. "Well, what are we – agh! – gonna do about it?"

Craig reached into his bag and slid a patented Red Racer walkie-talkie across the table. It was _important_ to have these kinds of things on hand at all times. "We're going undercover, obviously." He motioned towards the device, "It works in a five-metre radius. And if you drop it I'll kill you."

This seemed fairly reasonable, the dark-haired boy surmised, checking his own transceiver to make sure the battery was still alive. It would be good for six hours; more than enough to get the job done.

"C'mere." Craig shouldered his bag and gestured to Tweek to follow. "We have to get going."

Tweek didn't mention the fact that Craig's walkie-talkies were totally useless for a stealth mission. But then again, the blond probably wanted to stick around inside that five-metre radius.

***

_Enter Craig and Tweek, dressed in matching black hoodies and jeans. Fucking awesome, and totally not gay. _

"Cool, shitty Ray Bans knockoffs."

Craig was looking through the sunglasses that the general store had to offer while Tweek nervously scouted the area for gnomes. Naturally, there was nothing that had a brand name attached – only knockoffs were approved in the mountain town of South Park. No sun protection there, but eh, the hell.

He grabbed two pairs of passable-looking shades and went to pay. When he was done flipping off the cashier for charging _twenty seven_ bucks (and eighty-six cents) for "fake sunglasses that don't fucking _work_," he cheerfully took his spoils and dragged Tweek out the door.

"All right." Once they were outside, Craig reached into the plastic shopping bag and immediately slipped his shades on.

God, he was sooooo cool.

[Insert super lame pose here. Craig is leaning against a brick wall, feet crossed over each other, and chin upturned so that his shades reflect the afternoon sunlight. Tweek is trying to avoid getting beamed by said reflected rays, but it's kind of difficult because he's five inches taller than Craig and the angles are just _perfect_. No, Craig is not laughing maniacally at Tweek – yes he is.]

* * *

Phase Five: Hide in the Bushes

...and potted plants, if necessary.

**Location**: Park County Mall, aka Stalking Central.

**Mission**: Piss Bebe off (and hypothetically have Clyde realize the _greatness_ of Craig Tucker). Basically, break Clyde and Bebe up, ASAP. Like, now. _NOW._

**How: **The fuck should I know?

Craig peered discreetly through a leafy mass of flowering caladiums. All clear. He adjusted his shades so they rested comfortably along the bridge of his nose, and began to relay plan v.09 to his twitching accomplice. He took a sidelong glance at Tweek (4.6 metres away, behind the nearest potted plant) to make sure he was listening. Then with undisguised joy Craig flicked the on switch to his walkie-talkie.

The crackling feedback started up, and he let the sensation of detective badassery encompass him in grand, sweeping motions.

"All right," he said, unconsciously dropping his voice to his best Red Racer impression. "We haven't had much time to get ready, but here's how it's gonna work. In like, a minute and forty-nine seconds – I added in some time variables because Clyde's always late – they're gonna go to the shoe store. That's right across from us, Tweek . Are you listening? As for the actual plan, um –"

Tweek spasmed involuntarily, screamed "_Jesus fucking Christ they're here!_" and collapsed into a fern plant. At this particular moment in time, the blond's grip on the walkie-talkie slackened and the plastic fell to the floor, bursting into a million made-in-China pieces. (Just like Craig's heart.)

The dark-haired boy seethed inwardly and flipped his unconscious partner off. So much for his calculations.

"Hey is that you, Craig?" came the familiar nasal voice. Clyde was standing in front of the caladium plant, Bebe smugly latched onto his arm.

"No," Craig deadpanned, "it's not."

**Mission failed. YOU ARE DEAD.**

* * *

Man, it takes me such a long time to post. Ahaha. I think I might just hate school. XD Math and bio tests on Monday, physics on Tuesday, socials and French on Monday. Whooooooo. Time to study. Hope you liked Craig the Superstalker :)


	2. Log 2

I'm using (O.O) as a mini line divider. Long lines separate each phase, and the (O.O) just splits the phases into smaller sections, basically.

To A.R. (if you're even reading this, lol): ZOMG. We have like, the exact same pairing tastes. Internet High Five~! Haha, I hope you're not too starved of Cryde! SORRY I'M SO INCREDIBLY SLOW. :P

* * *

_**Log 2**_

_**

* * *

**_We open with an action scene.

Agent R4C3R, CODE RED! He pulls his shades down low and leaps over the potted plants, just inches from kicking Bebe Stevens in the face. _Damn, that could've been a good one_, he thinks, in that rasping lung-damaged but still really nasal tone of a chain-smoking superhero.

"Aw fuck!" he screams, crashing into Clyde instead and knocking the horrified brunet to the tiled floor. R4C3R gets up hastily, hoping Clyde doesn't _actually_ recognize him, and dashes off like the intrepid man he is. Tweek Tweak lies face-first in the embrace of a fern plant – a necessary sacrifice for the greater good. Our agent simply cannot take the risk of going back to save his incompetent tweaked up sidekick.

People might be staring, but he doesn't care. He just runs, his legs gaining speed, his breath hitching and coming out in short gasps.

All in all, a narrow escape.

Craig reaches his co-op with no time to spare. He looks over his shoulder to make sure that no one's following, then he shimmies up the drainpipe with artful agility.

Exhausted, he drops onto the carpeting of his room and passes out. Tomorrow, he vows, Clyde Donovan _will_ be his boyfriend. He's totally not messed up in the head, by the way.

(O.O)

Thursday morning. Craig Tucker, at full attention. It was 5:30 AM, and he was awake beyond the point of sanity.

His eyes were rimmed with red and it hurt to blink, but he was calm in the assurance that this time, it would all work out. Yes. Yarly.

He jammed the aviator hat onto his awesometastical bedhead and glared resolutely – because it was a very Craigish thing to do – at nothing in particular. He then proceeded to do normal things, like brushing his teeth, putting on pants, and watching Red Racer reruns with Stripe. Oh, and there was this brief mourning period for the loss of his $3 walkie-talkie (damn it, Tweek!), but it was just depressing.

Then, at exactly a quarter past six, Craig swung his bag over his shoulder and _strode out the door_.

(O.O)

Craig Tucker

17.85 years old  
Level: 8  
HP: 43/120 (critical, needs boyfriend)  
Coolness Rating: 11.5/10  
Attack: 85  
Defence: 10 (down to 0 when Bebe uses UberSlut tech)  
Armour: aviator hat (+5 DEF), sunglasses (+10 SEXAPPEAL when equipped)

* * *

Phase Six: H4x0r

Craig decided that it was going to be a solo mission from now on. At six in the morning, he possessed an excellent sense of judgment. No sarcasm, damnit.

He leapt off the bus, the landing sending a painful jolt up his ankles. And then he ran for it. Craig seemed to do a lot of running around when he sent himself on stealth missions regarding Clyde's relationship status. And well, why not? He was still single and available. ;) Though hopefully not for much longer.

Craig decided that since he was super kickass, and since the school's security system was sort of kind of maybe really shitty, he'd break in through a window. Just because.

Nonchalantly, he walked around the school's perimeter. Once he reached the computer lab, he took a running start, spread his arms wide, and hurled himself in through the glass.

"..._Ow_."

By some weirdass deviation from logic, no shards of glass seemed to be embedded in his skin, though his T-shirt managed to get pretty torn up. If this had been some gory slasher anime, it would've been damn sexy. But no, it was just Craig Tucker standing casually in the middle of a pile of shattered glass, with a shredded shirt hanging from his skinny teenage boy frame. Yeah.

He _knew_ he should've worn something more heavy duty for this.

"Oh, fuck it." He surveyed the damage with a connoisseur's eye, appreciatively taking in the intricacies of the Craig-shaped hole. Clyde would've loved to see it, he mused, lovesick gaze in place.

All right, it was time to get to work. Craig seated himself at a crappy computer (the school really had to invest in something more tangible, like Macs or something), and stretched his arms. "And from here, it's just like Warcraft." Except maybe even easier to hack. He powered the computer on and popped in his password crack disc. Dictionary hacking made him sooooo happy.

He'd done this millions of times before, like when he'd broken into Clyde's multiple WoW accounts to steal potions and mana. Mages like Craig were assholes. They sucked as tanks, they couldn't deal _any_ non-magical damage, and their weapons did nothing. But of course they were good at hacking. Douchebags.

The comparatively saner part of Craig, aka the Ineffective Dumbfuck side, questioned why he was going so far with this anyway? Because _hello_, Clyde liked girls. So he delivered a rather emotionally fraught monologue to himself, declaring that yes, there _was_ a point to all this unrequited love, okay?

**[Craig Tucker's Unromantic Love Life! The Musical.]**

Either way, Bebe's marks were going to burn. In Craig hell.

In about thirty seconds he had decrypted the school's network, aaaaand bam. Instant access to everyone's records. Oh, she would suffer. Craig smiled cheerfully, aglow with disturbingly genuine happiness.

But before any of that happened, he really needed to fix his physics mark. He was good at math –amazingly good at math – except he was too lazy to actually go to class.

49.45 was probably good enough to just push him through, but why would he have to put up with that grade if he could change it with the press of a few keys? And his teacher wouldn't even notice. It just proved that Park County's educational board was that much more incompetent than he'd originally assumed. Which was probably bad, but kind of fucking hilarious.

"Ripple tank lab... yeah, I'll just give myself a hundred on that.... Hmm.... Oh God, that was a stupid test – gonna bump that up to... uh, ninety-five. Which puts me at a... ninety-seven average. Not bad." He decided that, since he did after all know that velocity equalled _lambda times frequency_, it wasn't like he didn't _deserve_ the mark.

Craig exited his own records and put in a search for Bebe. Well, she wasn't completely stupid, with a 3.5 GPA and a 90 in math, but he'd be putting an end to that. He examined her course list with a critical eye, trying to pick out which classes he wanted her to really, _really_ fail in.

Red Racer would be so proud.

* * *

Phase Seven: Confront the Betch

Craig knew he wasn't a gangster. He knew he was just a boring mountain town douchebag hick, so he couldn't quite explain to himself why the hell he'd done it.

He had no logical explanation for why he'd stepped out from around the corner, said "Yo," and then tried to make threatening hand gestures. Nor did he have a reason for why he'd started screaming so fervently. He reflected on this as he stared blankly at the pencil gripped in his left hand. It felt surreal, like someone else had done it. Because Craig Tucker usually didn't go psychobitch on people. And Craig Tucker _usually_ didn't get slapped in the face, either.

Okay, so maybe his judgment was wavering a little. Jesus Christ, he hoped his mind hadn't completely cracked.

"Tweek, I'm going to die," he uttered finally, face-planting into his trig worksheet. And it was true. Being slapped by Bebe Stevens was going to do something to your self-esteem, never mind your _life expectancy_. Craig predicted approximately ten years left to live before he went completely insane, at which point he would stop liking Red Racer and Clyde would have married Bebe. He absolutely refused to accept such a fucked up future.

His left cheek burned bright red and his self confidence sort of felt like a shrivelled up apple with worms crawling around in it, but he knew _he had to keep going_.

(O.O)

_Leading up to Craig's traumatic experience...._

**Time: **8: 20 AM, twenty minutes before first period

**Location: **Park County High - _Hallway_

**((Outbox – **_**sending...**_**))**

Tweek. Fuck you. Thanks for breaking my walkie-talkie.

With renewed vigour in his step, Craig decided it was time. He would confront Bebe and tell her off, face to face. She was a ruthless slut, using the exact same tactics she'd orchestrated back in fourth grade. All for shoes, if last night could prove anything. What she was doing was wrong, and he wouldn't stand for it!

Thusly.

Craig slammed his locker shut and marched over valiantly, a picture perfect image of stoic oomph. Okay, maybe not. This was _Craig Tucker_, after all, and he was still a pretty boring guy. Nevertheless, he went on boldly to have a word with Bebe Stevens, the bimbo who had stolen the heart of his One True Love (OTL;).

"Yo." He put his Red Racer voice on again.

Bebe looked at him with the most bored expression he'd ever seen her wear. "Oh, what do you want? What happened to your shirt?"

He took a deep breath. "You're a fucking bitch." Quick, clean, and classy. "And," all defiantly, "there's nothing _wrong_ with my shirt."

"Look, that's nice," Bebe said, turning away, "but I have to go see if Clyde's free after school – "

"No, listen to me!" Craig screamed, flipping Bebe off and fighting the urge to just grab her by the shoulders and screech into her face. "You're pulling this shit on him again because you think you can get away with it, _huh_? Well I'm not gonna let that happen, goddamnit! He has better things to be doing. There's people who actually care about him, you know! To some people, it's not just a fucking joke, you stupid bitch!" His heart was racing erratically and his voice felt hoarse, but he hoped the point had been driven through.

A brief silence. There was a burning intensity, albeit no sexual tension, between the Stalker and the Slut.

"Jesus Christ, just leave it alone, Craig!" Bebe flipped him off with one perfectly manicured hand, and he wanted to scream some more because _who the fuck did she think she was, some kind of Craig Tucker rip off_, and then she slapped him in the face.

_God_, he hated her.

* * *

Phase Eight: Whine to Wendy Testaburger 

When all else failed, he was pretty sure he had to leave it up to some higher power. The most obvious, logical choice was Wendy Testaburger: school president, expert on revenge, and smartest person _ever_. Seriously, who else had gotten people killed at the age of eight? So he tracked her down at lunch like the expert stalker he was starting to become.

He found her sitting alone in the cafe, reading Great Expectations by Charles Dickens. She had really bad taste. "Um, hey, Wendy," he greeted, walking over gracelessly. Those were the after effects of _getting slapped in the face_, apparently.

"Sit down!" she hissed at him, nose still buried in her novel. She glanced furtively from behind the cover. "The girls are being bitches today, so I told them they could go fuck themselves. Fuck them right in the ear!" She managed to scowl prettily, flipping her hair back with composed fury.

Craig really hoped he hadn't picked a bad day. He hadn't even said anything, and she was already yelling at him. Damn, talk about intense.

He braced himself, then took a seat from across her and raised a conspirational eyebrow. (Any girl but Wendy Testaburger would assume this was just a shitty attempt at being flirtatious.) "Actually," he began, "that's what I need to talk to you about." Cheesy dork lines just would not evade him today.

Wendy nodded emphatically, as if she knew exactly where Craig was headed. She probably did. "I'm guessing you want Clyde," she said pointedly, setting her stupid French book down. She appeared to be in contemplation, purple-painted fingernails tapping on the table.

_I'm guessing you want Bebe_, Craig thought sarcastically.

"All right," Wendy spoke up again, "I'm in."

"Just... please don't tell me your ulterior motive for this is to get Bebe to yourself," he muttered under his breath, the epitome of cynicism. "I'm all for conformity until my life turns into shitty chick-lit."

Wendy reddened slightly but managed a calm retort. "You actually thought I'd help you without reasons of my own?"

"No, not really," Craig responded, his voice as dry and condescending as always. "I was just hoping it would be a little less contrived, but whatever."

Wendy shot him a petrifying look. The **Look** that could make Eric Cartman burst into tears. Craig, emotionless asshat he was, tried not to show that he was scared. _Pleasedon'tslapme._

"All right," she said brightly, smiling in a carefully calculated way. Wendy propped her elbows up on the lunch table. "Tell me what the situation is. And what did you do to your shirt?" She motioned toward the rapidly unravelling garment.

Craig tried not to be too much of a bitchy teenage girl about it. "Okay, so our best friends are being sluts with each other. Somehow we'll have to convince them that they're being dumbfucks and should seriously just be dating us instead." He paused to make a face, then continued in the same monotone. "Basically, we make straight people gay. _Well_ then, it's up to you." Yes, Craig was counting on Wendy to do the impossible. And he preferred to ignore that jibe at his shirt, thank you very much.

"She's obviously using him, how can he _not_ see that?" Wendy sounded incredulous.

"Hey, Clyde's kind of a dumbass," Craig protested in defence of his soon-to-be boyfriend.

"Not that you're stupid or anything, Craig," Wendy announced, clearly knowing that she could get away with insulting him any which way she wanted, "but I don't think you've tried the most obvious approach." She twirled a strand of dark hair around her finger and began to scribble intently on a piece of paper.

He let a frown grace his naturally super pissed off features. How much more obvious could he possibly get? "Dude, I tried stalking him last night – "

"Stalking is good if you want to be creepy, but you might as well try the confession route. I'll distract Bebe so you can have a clear shot at it." Wendy made it sound like a hunting trip.

Except with her, it was probably like a hunting trip with weapons of mass destruction. It was so messed up and _easy_, it would probably work.

"We'd make such a good couple, if we weren't gay," Craig said insightfully.

* * *

Phase Nine: Telling the Truth is Kind of Useful Sometimes

[At this point in time, Craig feels it is mandatory that you are informed: he is now wearing an **awesome hoodie stolen from Clyde**, which totally counteracts his hideously deformed excuse for a T-shirt. Damned windows, cutting his shirts open.]

"Hey, don't you think _Crystal Lattice_ would be an awesome stripper name? I mean, if I went to a nightclub I'd _so _request her every time!" Clyde sauntered out of chemistry class, Craig following close behind.

"Way to fuck up chem," mumbled aforementioned stalker, wondering just how many theoretical gay genes he'd have to inject into Clyde to make all fantasies of strippers go away. Craig could already see all the awful 'Hey, I think we have _chemistry_, huh, Crystal Lattice?' attempts at pickup lines. And he found himself questioning just why the hell he loved Clyde so much anyway.

Well, with any luck, it would all work out. Wendy would make sure Bebe broke up with Clyde, and all Craig had to do was step in at the right time and be suave. But he really wanted to know how the fuck he was supposed to be suave when Clyde was talking about strippers, for Christ's sake.

Then without warning, Clyde walked straight into a door. Craig _expertly sidestepped_ and peered concernedly into his best friend's face. "Dude, what the hell?"

Clyde held his crappy LG phone up so Craig could see. The brunet moaned weakly and rubbed at his head. "Seriously. Text message break up?" Clyde stared at his phone, open mouthed. "After one day? Oh my God, she's a _lesbian_, isn't she?"

Funny what kind of conclusions Clyde could jump to.

Shit man, that Wendy was good. It had taken her, what, three hours? Craig took this is as his cue to play comforting BFF.

"...So, are you gonna take that from her?" That was the best he could do.

"Uhh, what am I supposed to tell her, that her mom's a MILF?" Clyde asked. The confusion was evident in his face. "I did that to Lizzy before, but you know how some things just sound better in your head? And she kind of kicked my ass after that. It doesn't matter, dude. I'll get over it. I always do."

And subsequently, Craig realized with razor sharp clarity, he really had to make a goddamn move.

He inhaled, breath catching in his throat. He trusted Wendy, right? Even though she was obviously a ninja, and you could never completely rely on those ninjas. They worked for the _government_.

"All right, Clyde. I, uh – I love you. I've been trying for months to tell you, but there's always been sluts like Bebe in the way. Seriously, we should be dating. Now shut the fuck up." Well, that was smooth.

* * *

Phase Ten: I want a Fucking Make Out Session, Damnit

Clyde gave him the weirdest stare ever. One eye was squinty like the classic Kevin Stoley azn glare, and the other was as round as a fried egg. It looked pretty hard to pull off.

"_What_?" Craig snapped defensively. He knew rejection was probably inevitable, and that kind of ticked him off because Christ, how much _emotion_ had he been forced to show today? And if it was all for nothing... daaaamn.

"Are you serious, Craig?"

He really _hated_ it when people answered questions with questions, because then what the fuck were you supposed to do, ask another question –

Then Clyde kissed him, and to his surprise it was ridiculously chaste and girly. The brunet's lips were softer than he'd have expected, but he didn't have the chance to verify anything when Clyde pulled back. It was over before it started, and they hadn't even gotten to the raunchy part. What the shit.

"You're really fucking oblivious, you know? I've liked you since fourth grade." Clyde's face was flushed red, and his voice held an edge of uncertainty. A 'the fuck are you playing at' kind of uncertainty.

Since Craig sucked at comebacks, he tried to make do with a barely audible, "Shut up," which didn't feel that effective at all. Just what the hell was going on now? Countless hours of stalking and manipulation – and Clyde _already liked him_?

"It's just... I gave up trying after a while, because you never seemed to care," Clyde continued in that awkward tone that always made Craig want to melt into a gooey puddle. The brunet played with the hem of his shirt, smiling absent-mindedly. "Besides, chicks dig my awesome personality, so I was like, what the hell, I'll take what I can get. I mean, Bebe's _almost_ as hot as you."

"Bullshit," murmured Craig, rolling his eyes (because in all seriousness, he was obviously way hotter than Bebe Stevens). He leaned in to crash their lips together, the delirious knowledge of _finally_ kissing Clyde Donovan rushing through his head. Together they stumbled out of the school, lips interlocked in a totally amateurish attempt at making out.

But it wasn't as messy as it looked, okay?

"You look really good in my hoodie," Clyde said, appearing to be fighting a blush.

Craig flipped other boy off. "Yup." He grabbed Clyde's hand, and then they went... somewhere. Presumably to make out.

(O.O)

They ended up in Clyde's room, stretched out side by side on the twin bed. They were staring at the ceiling and talking about last night's episode of Terrance & Philip. Everything was pretty much the same as it had always been, until Craig decided to take the one-eighty turn and stick his tongue into the Clyde's mouth.

He rolled over so he was staring down at Clyde, hands pressed into the bedsheets; they were so close that their noses were touching. Then he lost his balance and toppled straight into Clyde. _Aw, Jesus Christ. _Their lips collided almost accidentally, and it wasn't so much making out as it was awkward groping and muffled gasps. Craig didn't really know what he was doing, but he was _trying_.

His tongue slid out, flicking against the entrance to Clyde's mouth. Clyde tasted like chocolate and sugar, sunshiny rainbow lollipops and taco flavoured kisses. And Craig was in love. He deepened the kiss, tongue swirling lazily against Clyde's more eager advances.

"Better than Bebe?" he demanded, finally breaking for ar. An arrogant smile tugged at his lips.

Clyde snickered. "What do you think?" The brunet sat up, brushing strands of hair out of his eyes. He seemed to be deep in thought. "Oh, and can you believe that she's getting thirty-nine in math? I swear to God she said she was _good_ at that."

Craig smirked knowingly, and wrapped his arms around his boyfriend again. "Yeah, I can believe that."

(O.O)

**MISSION COMPLETE!  
RANK: C-**

Stealth: 5/10  
Technique: 6/10  
Time: 31 hours_  
_

_Level Up! _

_

* * *

_I'm sorry that I suck at writing make out scenes, LOL. How'd you like ninja!Wendy? Ahaha. Good times with pwp.


End file.
